


Bi(g) Brienne and the Lannister Twins

by angel_deux



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, POV Cersei Lannister, but he's bi too, but i dont care it's funnier if she's nicer, everyone is bi except yara, jaime might not say it at all in this fic, who is fully gay, you might say Cersei's too nice in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 18:36:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20980514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_deux/pseuds/angel_deux
Summary: The Lannister twins always had to have everything matching as they grew up.Maybe it's not so surprising that they have the same taste in women, too.aka: Cersei and Brienne hook up a decade before Brienne meets Jaime, and Cersei will brag about being there first for the rest of her life.





	Bi(g) Brienne and the Lannister Twins

**Author's Note:**

> prompted on tumblr:   
"I wish you'd write a modern AU where Brienne and Cersei hooked up at some point before Braime became a thing and Cersei will never let him live it down."
> 
> which made me laugh for like a full 5 minutes when I got it. I was so excited to write this omg.

When they were growing up, Cersei and Jaime Lannister had to have everything exactly even. They were twins, they reasoned with their very exhausted mother. They _had _to match. The idea of _boy things _and _girl things _was completely foreign to them, as was the idea of _Jaime things _and _Cersei things_. If Jaime got a toy, Cersei needed a toy. If Cersei got a present, they would demand a present for Jaime. Not a different thing, or a better thing. If their parents wanted any peace, it would be a thing that had the _exact _same value.

When Cersei’s an adult, she thinks about her mother sometimes. She has very few memories of her, but she imagines that Joanna Lannister must have been a superhumanly patient woman. Jaime and Cersei had to run at the same speed. They had to play for the same amount of time. They had to wear complementary colors! For every meal, there needed to be the _exact_ same number of everything on the plate, or else she and Jaime would throw a fit. Neither of them were picky eaters otherwise, mostly because if Cersei forced herself to eat peas to show up Jaime, that meant Jaime would scowl and grumble and eat his peas, too.

As they got a little older and started to understand the concept of competition, they got even more obnoxious. They fought over who got to do things first. They fought over who got to have the _better_ something. They fought over _everything_, and Cersei almost always managed to win because Jaime was so easy to manipulate with false tears or sulky silences that made him desperate to make it right again.

Jaime wasn’t an innocent angel, either. _Nobody _could make Joanna Lannister melt like he could. If Cersei ever looked like she was going to beat Jaime too soundly at something, he’d just have to open his stupid green eyes really wide and let them get all wet and teary, and Joanna would swoop in to protect him. He was so _good _at it, and sometimes he even tricked _Cersei, _who was supposed to know better. And even as they got “too old” for their “childishness”, as their father was fond of saying, Jaime refused to give in. When Cersei started playing with dolls, Jaime wanted dolls. When Cersei got her nails painted by their mother one rainy day, Jaime wanted _his_ nails painted. Joanna didn’t give a shit about gendered playthings for her children—because, Cersei is sure, Joanna Lannister _was _the best mother on the planet—but Tywin nearly threw a fit when he came home and found that his wife had painted his son’s fingernails blue.

“They’re _blue_, at least,” Joanna had said, stifling her laughter. “I thought that might temper your stupid masculine pride. Oh, you look ridiculous, sweetheart. Getting angry over nail polish. Don’t be so horrible.”

Tywin had blustered and been annoyed, but Joanna was Joanna, and she could get away with anything as far as Tywin was concerned. He melted around her. Became less of a stuck-up prick. Cersei always watched her mother charm him with this kind of awed fascination, watching the way she used sweetness to win against a man who seemed so opposed to the very _idea _of sweetness. It was so different from the way Tywin negotiated with other people. It made Cersei want to _learn_.

* * *

When Joanna was dead, Tywin cared very little for indulging his “spoiled children”. He hired nannies who separated them and forced them to learn not to ask for things for themselves and tried to train them out of liking things that weren’t _appropriate_. Cersei’s archery playset and action figures wound up in Jaime’s room. Jaime’s dolls and paint set ended up in Cersei’s. The nannies weren’t nice women. No one who would help soothe the loss of their mother. They were cold, dutiful women who would never paint Jaime’s nails and would probably punish him if they found Cersei doing it for him.

It changed everything. And so did Tyrion.

Their little brother’s birth had killed Joanna, and Tywin never forgave him, and Cersei never fully understood him. Jaime, though. Jaime _had_ him. Jaime cared for him and loved him and always made sure that Tyrion felt like _everyone_ loved him with the same intensity that Jaime felt.

For years afterwards, once she grew up a little and realized that her father was a piece of shit and stopped blaming a fucking _baby_ for something that all the doctors said was impossible to prevent, Cersei would try. She would give Tyrion little gifts. She would shower him with kisses and ruffle his curly blonde head and she would let him pick the movie any time she agreed to babysit. It would never matter. Tyrion was Jaime’s first, and he was Jaime’s wholly, and Cersei was left to simmer in jealousy for the brotherly bond that she would never have.

* * *

So it isn’t like it’s on purpose. It isn’t like Cersei sets out to claim someone that Jaime has his eyes on. It wouldn’t exactly be foreign to her, but it’s just not what happens. It’s a full decade before Jaime even meets Brienne.

It’s just…typical. That’s all. A continuation of a childhood rivalry that they were supposed to have grown out of.

* * *

She and Taena have been fooling around for a while when Cersei meets Brienne. It first started in college, when Cersei realized that she was probably at least _a little _into women and Taena—who already knew she was bi—semi-jokingly offered to go down on her to see if it was something she’d be interested in. Cersei’s the type of person who likes to get to the bottom of stuff as quickly as possible, so she accepted. They hooked up off and on through college, and it was _fine_, and Cersei’s grateful it helped her answer a few questions about herself, but it’s not like they were ever in love. Taena got married right out of college to this annoying, bumbling investment banker type who never shut up but also never said anything interesting, and she popped out a kid like six months later. From then on, it was _constant _updates about the baby and about the husband, and their friendship only held on as long as it did because Cersei didn’t have many other friends and because she kind of figured the relationship would crash and burn sooner rather than later.

So then they’re twenty-four, and Taena and the husband have been separated for a few months. In the time since they last hooked up, Cersei gave it a shot with a few more women, but there’s just been this _lack_. Like there’s something missing. Even Taena doesn’t feel as right as she used to. It’s satisfying, because Taena is very good at what she does, but Cersei doesn’t get the same thrill that she was expecting. The same thrill that she sometimes gets when she’s with a man who knows what he’s doing.

It would be so _boring_ to realize that she’s actually been straight this entire time, and Cersei really doesn’t think she is. She sees the appeal of other women. Now that she’s been through college and has done a bit of reading on the subject, she has come to recognize that those pretty girls she thought she loathed because of jealousy in high school were more just inconvenient because she wanted to kiss them and didn’t think she should. So maybe she’s just picky. Or maybe Taena just isn’t her _type_. Taena is rather small, and delicate, and pretty, and Cersei has a faint idea that that’s not exactly what she wants from a woman. She likes men who are smaller than her, men who are easy to control, but she thinks she wants a woman who’s powerful. Bigger, maybe.

Turns out it isn’t hard to find a woman bigger than her. She and Taena head out to the club for specifically that reason, and they spend a few minutes critiquing Cersei’s options out of the gazelle-like figures already on the dancefloor before Taena gets a call from her ex and has to go outside to take it.

The call, Cersei is certain, will be all about her precious son. It isn’t that Cersei doesn’t like kids, but _gods_. They’re in their early twenties, and Taena is already an overbearing mother. She’s going to be unbearable if she has another one.

Cersei’s verging on bored when she spots the woman hiding near the bar area, neatly tucked into a corner. She isn’t very pretty despite the expertly-applied makeup, but she’s _very_ tall, and she’s wearing heels, making her impossible to miss. And she’s so _muscular. _Cersei’s already drooling at the thought of those arms holding her down on the bed while those thighs bracket her hips. The tall woman is wearing a dress with short sleeves that accentuate her arms rather than hiding them, and it’s short enough that she keeps self-consciously tugging it lower on her legs. Cersei’s halfway across the room already.

“Hi,” she says, putting on the charm as much as she possibly can. “My, but aren’t _you_ a big woman. I like big women.”

* * *

Cersei is Cersei, so yes, it’s that easy. The big woman turns out to be named Brienne, and she’s been abandoned by her very male, very gay friend who has engaged in an apparently marathon makeout session with a pretty boy on the dancefloor. Cersei is open with her intentions from the start, because she sees no reason to try and sweet-talk Brienne into anything. She’s twenty-four. She’s done dancing around things and being nervous that she’ll be scorned or laughed at. If Brienne isn’t interested, Cersei will walk away. If Brienne tries to be a dick about it, Cersei’s easily the meanest person Cersei knows, and she’s got her insults locked and loaded.

“Have you ever been with a woman before?” she asks Brienne, two minutes after walking over.

“I’ve never been with anyone before,” Brienne answers, and there’s a fear in her posture and in her delivery, like she thinks Cersei will lose interest now that she knows, or make fun of her. Cersei only smiles.

“Has anyone ever even kissed you?” she asks. Brienne shakes her head. “Would you like me to be your first?” she asks, and Brienne nods.

Cersei stands on her toes, and she cups Brienne’s jaw, and she kisses her with more tenderness than she’s ever kissed anyone in her life. Brienne is stiff with surprise at first, but not for long. She melts into Cersei’s kiss, reacting instinctively, and Cersei can’t hear it over the sound of the music in the club, but she can feel from the vibration of her thumb at Brienne’s throat that Brienne makes some kind of deep noise. Humming or whimpering or moaning. Cersei can’t tell, and it doesn’t matter.

_First_, she thinks. Like it’s a race between herself and the rest of the human race. She doesn’t think she’s ever been anyone’s first kiss before.

“See?” she asks, breathlessly. Brienne looks red and well-kissed, and it doesn’t make her any prettier, but Cersei finds her gobsmacked expression terribly endearing. “That wasn’t so hard.”

* * *

She doesn’t even mention wanting Brienne to dominate her, because it seems a bit too much for the poor girl, who’s already overwhelmed. But she kisses and licks and nibbles on all those miles of Brienne’s untouched skin until the big woman is a mess of bonelessness in her bed. Brienne admits that she’s never had an orgasm before that wasn’t given to herself, so Cersei happily gives her one. Another first. And second. And, eventually, the next morning, the parting gift of a third.

Cersei went out tonight wanting to find someone to manhandle her, treat her a little roughly, but there’s a preciousness to Brienne that means she treats Cersei more delicately than Taena ever had, and it’s sweet. It’s so beautifully sweet, and even with her inexperience and the slow way she starts out, her fingers clumsy and her tongue tentative, it doesn’t take her very long to get Cersei off. She’s a fast learner, and the sound of her pleasure had brought Cersei so close to there already.

Afterward, Cersei kisses her, feeling strong. Chasing that feeling.

“Now you’ve been with a woman,” Cersei says, and Brienne laughs helplessly. She’s naked, sated, and she lets Cersei cuddle up to her shoulder without trying to cover her nudity, and Cersei feels pleased with herself. A far cry already from the girl who was hiding in the corner, desperately trying to grow four magic inches of fabric on her tight black dress. 

“Now I’ve been with a woman,” she agrees, and she looks at Cersei again with wonder. “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Cersei smiles wider, and she pulls Brienne into another kiss.

“And _you_,” she says after. “Make the best noises I’ve ever heard.” It’s the truth, and it saves her from having to tell an awkward lie. She can tell that Brienne knows it, from the wry grin on her face.

* * *

They hook up from time to time. Utterly casual, which Cersei is relieved about. She’d worried, after, that Brienne would think Cersei was looking for something more serious, but Brienne seems to understand _exactly _what this is, and Cersei gets the feeling that she’s quietly in love with that very male, very gay best friend that she can’t seem to stop talking about. That’s just fine with Cersei. She doesn’t mention it. Doesn’t try to talk to Brienne about it. That’s not what this is.

Brienne grows more confidence, and she gets experience, and she _does _eventually, hesitantly, agree to manhandle Cersei just a _bit_. She’s still so gentle about it, and it’s still so sweet, and Cersei has a feeling that that’s just _her_, just Brienne. She’s too _nice _for Cersei. She might be too nice for anybody. Cersei has this odd desire to protect her from the worst of the world, even though a woman with Brienne’s height and her lack of feminine grace probably heard the worst by the time she was out of middle school. Hells, if they had gone to school together, Cersei herself would have been one of Brienne’s biggest tormenters, and she knows it.

In the end, Cersei moves away from town because her father refuses to consider her as a candidate to take over the family business, instead trying to foist it on Jaime who _clearly _isn’t interested. She leaves, and she strikes out on her own, and she puts her trust fund to good use and opens her own fucking business. She sees Brienne a few more times in the first year after that, just in passing when she’s visiting home, but they only ever exchange polite hellos and awkward hugs, as if Cersei wasn’t the one who introduced her to the idea of a fucking strap-on.

Taena eventually gets back together with her boring ex, which is exactly what Cersei knew would happen. Cersei dates a few men, dates a few women, feels finally secure in her understanding of her own sexuality, and then moves even _farther_ away, closer to the coast, and spends five intolerable years married to a man who thinks their marriage means she’s “straight now” until she finally divorces him.

* * *

Getting together with his niece several weeks later is mostly a coincidence, but it _does_ feel a teensy bit like revenge.

* * *

Yara isn’t very impressed with Cersei’s hometown, which Cersei can’t blame her for. At least she agreed to come with her. Jaime probably thought he was being shocking when he announced in the sibling group chat that he was bringing his _girlfriend _to the yearly family meet-up, and Cersei wasn’t looking forward to showing up empty-handed.

_I’m dating the niece of my bag-of-shit ex-husband _is a pretty good bomb to drop on someone, but the impact is better if Yara is actually there, all broad and strong and smug about one-upping her least favorite of all her horrible uncles.

“It’s just a thing we do,” Cersei had explained to Yara, breezy and unconcerned and secretly, deep down, a bit worried that Yara wouldn’t want to come. “A yearly celebration of my father’s death.”

“Don’t you mean remembrance or some other shite?” Yara asked.

“You know I don’t,” Cersei replied in a sing-song voice, which made Yara laugh.

Of the three Lannister siblings, Cersei was undoubtedly hit hardest by Tywin’s passing, but after several years and a bit of a go at therapy, she has come to understand that a) therapy is not for her and b) her sadness over her father’s death was mostly related to the fact that he would never have a chance to realize that she was the son he always despaired of not having. He was just too much of a misogynistic asshole to realize that she was the one who had inherited and learned his business sense and his ruthlessness. Women were to be Joanna Lannister or they were nothing, and Cersei was willful and not sweet and gentle like her mother had been. She had learned too much from her father. _Jaime_ was Joanna come again, in a lot of ways, and Cersei and Tyrion were the children that Tywin should have praised, but he put all his energy into trying to mold Jaime into someone stronger and harder than he was ever going to be, and he failed all _three _of his children that way.

Tywin was an idiot, and so she gave herself permission to be sad, and she gave herself permission to be angry, and then she moved on with her life. _Celebration _is exactly what it is.

* * *

Jaime still lives in their hometown, where he helps manage a chain of restaurants that their aunt owns. Tyrion is the kind of person who will disappear for six months and then cheerfully announce that he was working at a carnival in Mereen like that’s a normal thing for a millionaire’s son to do, so _he’s_ always a mystery, but no one likes to celebrate their father’s death more than him, so Cersei knows he’ll show up. She doesn’t bother to call either of them ahead of time. She never does.

It’s nicer this way. Almost vaguely magical. The three of them see each other throughout the year, of course, but they _always _come together at this specific time. Not for a holiday or for some deep tradition. Just a mutual relief that their father doesn’t control their lives anymore.

Cersei and Yara head immediately to the main restaurant. They don’t even have to go inside; Aunt Genna and Jaime are bickering about the chalkboard sign out front. When he sees Cersei coming down the sidewalk, Jaime perks up in his usual endearing labradoodle way, brushing past Genna and charging forward to wrap his twin in a hug.

Cersei can stand on her own. She proved that through her miserable marriage, and she proved it during her divorce, and she proved it in the years since she started her own business and kept it running effectively and growing it slowly, smartly, in a way Tywin would have praised if he wasn’t such a bastard. Still, _still_ she never feels quite as safe as she does when she’s wrapped in her brother’s arms. He may be a total fucking mess and she’s a woman who actually has her life together, but Jaime’s presence makes her feel like a kid again, when he was always there and he _always _wanted to protect her.

“You look amazing!” she tells him earnestly, because ‘you look so much better’ would be a terrible thing to say. The car accident last year took Jaime’s hand, but it was his spirit that had Tyrion and Cersei exchanging uncharacteristically emotional texts and calls for a few months while they tried to help without hovering. Cersei had been in the middle of her divorce, and she had never been the most emotionally put-together person to begin with. Her attempts to try and get him to come live with her were all rejected, and that was really the only way she knew how to love: provide things and comforts and money. Jaime didn’t want that, and he wallowed. Tyrion had been met with similar resistance.

But everything had turned itself around even without her help. Jaime had Aunt Genna and apparently a physical therapist in town that he was now dating, because of _course_ the silly sap went and fell in love with his physical therapist. He looks loads better than he used to, so Cersei won’t complain, but _still_. It’s so tacky.

“I feel better,” Jaime admits, looking down at her fondly. His eyes cut away. “I assume this is Yara.”

“The niece of her ex-husband, yeah,” Yara says, grinning. It’s always her favorite part of meeting new people from Cersei’s life. It’s sort of Cersei’s now, too. She loves the look of shocked amusement on Jaime’s face. The way he looks at her indulgently as if to say: _this is so you._ “He’s a real piece of shit, right?”

“The worst,” Jaime agrees, smug because he told her from the beginning that Euron was no good and now he’s constantly on this high of reminding her that he called it.

“Yes, we can all have a good laugh at my choices,” Cersei says, annoyed. In the process of rolling her eyes, she spots a familiar tall figure making her way down the sidewalk. She’s with Yara now, very happy with Yara now, but she has to gape at the figure Brienne cuts as she walks towards them. She’s wearing tight jeans and brown boots and fucking flannel. Her hair is in a tiny ponytail at the top of her head, but it’s so short that pieces are falling down and framing her face.

“Oh wow. Did I just get _more _gay?” Yara asks, following Cersei’s eyeline.

“Oh, that’s...” Jaime starts.

“Brienne,” Cersei finishes absently.

“…my girlfriend,” Jaime continues. “Wait, how do you know Brienne?”

“Wait, _what_?” Yara says. “She’s _straight_? Fuck. No offense.”

“None taken,” Cersei and Jaime both answer at once.

_She’s not_, Cersei thinks, knowingly.

She and Jaime are watching each other carefully now. Cersei won’t give anything away. If Brienne hasn’t told Jaime, it’s not Cersei’s place to do it. But there’s a look in Jaime’s eye like he’s slowly starting to understand something.

Brienne looks up from the sidewalk as she approaches them, and she freezes.

“Jaime,” she says. Then, “Cersei”, in a tone that _screams_ realization. Yara begins, almost immediately, to cackle.

* * *

Brienne _has_ told Jaime all about her first few experiences, of course. Cersei can tell immediately that the two of them are that sickening couple who refuse to have secrets from each other—except, apparently, the _name _of this mysterious beautiful woman who introduced Brienne to the world of sex. Jaime looks horrified enough by the revelation that Cersei has to imagine he thought the whole thing was incredibly hot until it became a memory invaded by the presence of his twin.

“You said she was _sweet_,” Jaime says once they’re all inside and seated at a booth away from Genna’s prying ears. He sounds incredibly suspicious, like he thinks this must be some prank.

“She was!” Brienne protests, which makes Cersei preen and makes Jaime look more confused and makes Yara cackle even louder. “I don’t know why I never put it together. You two look so alike.”

“Apparently you have a type,” Yara says with a saucy wink that makes Brienne blush. Still laughing, she turns to Cersei and Jaime, pointing between them. “And _you_ two have the same type! Oh, I love this. I’m so glad I came with you.”

“This isn’t going to make things weird, is it?” Brienne asks miserably, with the air of a child who has been given the toy they have desperately wanted and who only now realizes that they aren’t allowed to keep it.

“No,” Jaime says quickly, firmly. He hasn’t changed a bit. Jaime, always throwing himself on the sword for his loved ones. Cersei has no doubt that the idea of Cersei getting to Brienne first is going to torment him for a while, but Jaime isn’t the type to let a little weirdness ruin a relationship. Brienne looks over at Cersei with big, begging eyes. Like a particularly pretty cow.

“Of course not, sweetheart,” Cersei says. She lays her hand on top of Brienne’s and sees the way Jaime’s brow goes all wrinkled. “I can’t think of anything more delightful than this exact situation.”

* * *

She calls Tyrion from the bathroom.

“You’re calling me,” he says when he answers. “So I’m assuming that this is the EMT who tried valiantly to administer first aid to my sister. If you need my permission to call time of death, have at it. You deserve a break.”

“Good morning, my love,” Cersei answers cheerily. “You’re going to feel so bad for that in a moment.”

“Why?” Tyrion sounds reluctantly intrigued. She can’t blame him. She’s burned him so many times.

“I’ve just met Jaime’s new girlfriend.”

“The therapist? He certainly needs her.”

“Physical therapist.”

“Well, that too. What about her? He told me I’m not allowed to make tall jokes _or_ jokes about her looks when I see her. I’m a bit eager for this plane to board so I can get there and do both of those things immediately.”

“Well, make sure you also don’t mention the fact that she and I hooked up a few times a decade ago. Definitely don’t bring up the fact that I gave the girl her very first orgasm that wasn’t self-administered.”

Tyrion is so silent that Cersei thinks he has perhaps hung up on her, but then he breathes out. Long, slow.

“Cersei. This is the happiest day of my life.”

Grinning, Cersei checks her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks are perfectly flushed. Her lipstick looks incredible. Her hair even better. Yes, this is definitely her day.

“I know,” she says.

“He told me he started shopping for engagement rings already, and you somehow got there first. Hmm. You don’t think this is going to ruin things for him, do you?”

“If it does, he doesn’t deserve her in the first place,” Cersei says, and she can hear Tyrion attempting a polite little clap.

“Well said. Gods. Thank you, sweet sister, for this gift. I don’t think I’ve ever said something so sincere to you before, but I hope you know how earnestly I mean it.”

“I hope he marries the poor girl,” Cersei says. “I don’t want to _ever _stop talking about this.”

* * *

Despite her bravado to Tyrion on the phone, Cersei _does_ lay off Jaime and Brienne for a bit. Yara mocks her about being soft, which Cersei vehemently denies, but there’s a ring of truth to it that she would rather ignore.

Cersei has a reputation for brutality, and she knows it’s earned. Tywin gave more of himself to her than he wanted to. Or more like she grabbed it, took what was meant for Jaime and made it her own, leaving her twin defenseless. She doesn’t regret it: she’s in a good place in her life, and she would be far worse off if she didn’t have her father’s odious instincts in her. But she does feel sorry for Jaime, sometimes. She isn’t sure if he would be better off if he hadn’t grown to be so dissimilar to her. She thinks it’s possible that he’s too good a person by half. But she loves him as he is, and she’s happy that he’s found someone who loves him almost as fiercely as she does.

But Cersei is Cersei. She doesn’t abandon the idea of fucking with her brother just because she loves him. She’s a Lannister, and Jaime can give as good as he gets when it comes to the unspoken, unacknowledged competition between the two of them. No, Cersei merely waits for the right opportunities.

* * *

They arrive, of course. Tyrion provides many, _many_ setups, allowing Cersei to spike the carnal knowledge of her brother’s girlfriend back in his face. It’s funny: after Tywin’s death celebration, the Lannister siblings seem to spend more time together than ever, and Jaime looks equal parts miserable and thrilled about it, like he doesn’t want to be teased but would rather be teased than be apart from his family.

The worst part—or best, if you’re Cersei—is that Brienne gets comfortable enough to joke along with them. Hesitantly at first, a few months after the first meeting. Looking at Jaime with obvious worry, like she’s not sure how it will be received. It isn’t very funny, what she says. Just something about Cersei being first “in a couple of different ways”. More straightforward acknowledgement than true joke, but Cersei and Tyrion and Yara and Tyrion’s new girlfriend Shae react as if she’s said the funniest thing on the planet. Jaime buries his face in his hand and his prosthetic, and his shoulders shake as he laughs, and Brienne blushes and looks relieved and _far_ too adorable.

Another time, as they’re celebrating Jaime and Brienne’s engagement, Tyrion finds reasons for them to play some kind of drinking game, and he keeps asking questions about sex that make Jaime and Cersei take sips in unison.

“I’ve never been with someone over six feet tall.”

“I’ve never been with someone in the medical profession.”

“I’ve never fantasized about being manhandled by a big blonde woman.”

Over and over again until they’re all drunk and laughing desperately. And then, finally, mischievously: “I’ve never been the first person to make someone orgasm” while Brienne turns _brutally_ red and Cersei pumps her fist in the air and downs the last of her glass and Jaime lies back, groaning aloud.

Mostly, it’s little comments. Asides. It isn’t like a quota or anything, but Cersei makes sure to mention it at least once per visit, which gets even worse when she and Yara move in together only ten minutes down the road and they see Jaime and Brienne a lot more. Jaime has almost come to expect it.

* * *

Two years after they first realized they had hooked up with the same girl, three weeks before the wedding, Aunt Genna finally hears about it. Being Aunt Genna, she immediately asks the question that no one had dared to ask before.

“Which one of them is better with their mouth?” she asks.

“What a disgusting question for an aunt to ask,” Cersei complains, secretly dying to know. Brienne considers. Jaime looks vaguely worried.

“Actually, they’re both pretty similar,” Brienne finally decides. “Equally enthusiastic?” She looks like she would rather die than say anything else, but instead she stutters out, “I didn’t have any complaints about either of them.”

“Twins,” Cersei says in explanation, holding her hand up. Jaime laughs, and he looks adorably relieved, and he high-fives her in return.

(Cersei will never, for the rest of her life, believe anything other than that Brienne was obviously lying to spare Jaime’s feelings. There’s no way he’s as good as she is.)


End file.
